Myths

Author notes

Bad Dog page 3

ConnorLachmanec

on May 19, 2020

The magic mirror glows on the damp stone wall, bathing the prison dining room in its dull glow. All manor of myths in plain linen tunics sit at the many tables. A satyr calmly chews an overcooked celery, paying no mind to the hungry troll that devours a plate of maggot-infested meat next to him. A surly minotaur picks at a steaming pile of colourless slop. Behind them the hazy figure of Brutus continues flirting with the nymph, reassuring her that his wife allows him to indulge “man’s nature” to frolic with the nymphs every now and then. She deflects, directing his attention to King Kjar of Valland, an important Hyperborean kingdom, but no one in the room is listening to the broadcast. They keep their heads down and do their own time under the watchful red eyes of the automaton guards.

The cynocephalus stands glaring up at the flickering mirror with angry yellow eyes. The ugly scar that mars the brown skin on the left side of his face is still raw from where the police struck him. They may have broken his flesh but they will not break his spirit. He will cherish the memories of last night. The look of terror on that sniveling pig’s face as he bit off his hands. Those hands he had raised to beat that poor tired girl. The metallic taste of the pimp’s blood has not yet left his mouth.

He turns away from the mirror and moves to sit down next to the minotaur but is rebuffed with a low growl. He sets his jaw but does not growl back. He does not seek a fight for the sake of it.

“And he goes ‘the rainbow keeps me awake!’” His ears prick up and he turns his head to see three figures seated at a table several yards away. A large tattooed valkyrie with a purple glow and blonde hair in a braided undercut leans toward a petite grey-skinned lampad with long white hair. Down the table from them, a coiled green gorgon rubs her temple and cringes at the valkyrie’s story. The lampad throws back their head and laughs a pleasant contagious laugh. “Oh Gods! No! Really?”
“Ja! So I said ‘well maybe if you lasted longer, this wouldn’t be a problem,” the valkyrie continues in a thick Nordic accent, “also fuck you, it’s not rainbow, it’s aurora borealis!”
The cynocephalus listens and watches with interest. In a sea of sullen broken souls surviving their colourless prison existence one wretched day at a time, these three are like an island of life and levity.